


A Special Type of Magic

by readingtoujours



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Is there anything better than Baz and Simon being in love?, M/M, bad day, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingtoujours/pseuds/readingtoujours
Summary: Baz has a bad day. When you live with Simon Snow, there’s only one good way to fix that.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128





	A Special Type of Magic

It was one of those days. Baz had stayed up too late the night before watching TV (and watching the way that Simon’s chest rose and fell when he breathed). This meant that it had taken him a little extra time to get out of bed, which meant that he had less time to get ready, which meant that his hair wasn’t slicked back like he liked, which meant that loose strands were falling in his eyes.

He was running to make the bus, because of course -- of fucking course -- that was the day that the lift decided to take forever to get him from his apartment down to the front door. When he got to the bus station, he made the bus, but only barely. He had run so hard to get there that most of his coffee had spilled over the side of the cup, so now it was half empty. There were no bus seats left, so he had to slurp down the remainder of his coffee while standing up. He was still huffing and puffing, trying to recover from the run he’d had to take to make the bus. 

When he finally got to class, he didn’t have enough energy to scare his classmates, because he’d only had half of his usual dose of caffeine, so the seat next to him ended up being taken. The girl who took it was blonde, and flirtatious, and the type of person who, on a full cup of coffee, Baz would’ve flat out told to fuck off. 

Baz forgot, sometimes, that other people didn’t know that he and Snow were… that he could now openly love Snow. Simon was all that he thought about, and he forgot, sometimes, that the world didn’t know this. In his head, it was rather obvious that he was about as straight as a circle. So whenever people thought of him as heterosexual, whenever the girls in his class smiled at him or pouted at him or looked at him in a certain way -- well, it served as a good reminder, he supposed. A reminder that the world was larger than the two of them. A reminder that even though Wellbelove was far away, her unreciprocated appreciation for Baz was replicated by those close by. 

Thinking about Wellbelove made Baz think about Simon… Few things didn’t make Baz think about Simon. In class, when someone did something especially daft, Baz thought about how daft Simon was, and he smiled. 

He was doing that now, smiling because he was thinking about Simon. It was the one thing he could smile about no matter how shitty his day was. 

“What?” the blonde girl next to him asked, her eyes making it clear that she thought Baz was smiling about her. Baz realized that it was possible that she had been speaking to him while he wasn’t listening, while he was thinking about knobby knuckles and scattered freckles and soft golden hair… 

“Nothing,” Baz said. It was the least exciting retort he’d ever given to anyone in his life, he realized. He tried to infuse a little more ‘fuck off’ energy into his posture, turning his back to her and hunching closer to his laptop. He prayed she wasn’t the type of person who interpreted any type of disinterest as “playing hard to get.”

Unfortunately for Baz -- but perfectly on par with the rest of his shitty day -- she was.

“What?” she asked again, the same coy twist on her words. Baz ignored her, scowling. He looked at the clock and wished that the day could end quickly, wished that the hour hands could zip through the hours until it was time for him to be home.

The girl poked Baz in the back with her pencil, and, seriously, who thinks it’s okay to poke someone with a pencil because they’re ignoring you?

Baz rolled his eyes, his scowl getting deeper. He tried to urge the professor to end the lecture early. He considered using magic to finish the lecture, considered mumbling a few words that would make the day history and allow him to climb back into bed where he’d wanted to be since before the day even started. 

But he had left his wand at home, and he had sworn off magic -- for Simon’s emotional comfort, but also because there was something rather refreshing about the Normal life that Simon was living. 

The girl poked him in the back once more. Baz ignored her again, a response that the girl had the audacity to giggle about -- but Baz didn’t giggle back, so the girl eventually dropped it. 

***

The lecture eventually ended, and time eventually passed, and Baz was finally, finally back on the bus that was back on the route that would get Baz back home and back into bed, a state that he physically craved. 

When Baz got off the bus, it felt like he had lived three lives. His earlier lack of caffeine was starting to manifest itself in the form of a headache, the kind that ached right above his ear. His back had a crick in it from being held so stiffly away from the blonde girl, and he was still grumpy and scowly from the adrenaline rush that running late in the morning gave him.

In the lift, he forced himself to take deep breaths, as though his exhales could rid him of the sourness of the day. He began untying his shoes in preparation for flinging them off of his feet as soon as he could. He got to his door and pushed it open as he removed the shoes from his feet. The door closed behind him. With careful fingers, he undid the clasps that fastened the front of his jacket. Then he stopped being careful, peeled the jacket off of his body, and let his bag drop to the floor.

He was home. Already, he could feel the grip of his sadness loosen its hold a little bit. He breathed in, breathed out, then strode over to the couch in two steps.

Simon was on the couch, all sprawled out, each limb on a different corner of the furniture. He was asleep, his mouth wide open and his breathing slow and steady. Baz felt tears prick his eyes. Simon looked like chicken soup felt, like comfort and home and warmth and goodness and everything else that was right in the world wrapped into one. And it was so relieving, so utterly good, that Baz couldn’t help but let out a shuddery breath.

Simon stirred but didn’t fully wake. Baz couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He flopped on top of Simon, pushing his face into Simon’s neck and tucking his feet under Simon’s legs. Simon stirred again. He wrapped his arms around Baz without fully waking up, and something about that gesture -- something about the fact that even in his sleep Simon comforted Baz -- pushed tears into Baz’s eyes again. He blinked them away and swallowed, but his swallow was wet with emotion, which Simon noticed, so he rubbed his hands up and down Baz’s back. 

“What’s the matter?” Simon asked, his voice thick with sleep. 

Baz didn’t answer. He knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, he’d turn into a blubbery mess of emotion, and he didn’t want to mess up what they hand then, the peaceful synchronicity of deep breaths. 

Simon understood. He was thick when it came to other things, but that was only because he never really paid attention. He cared about Baz -- he was hopelessly devoted to Baz -- so, when it came to Baz’s needs, he was decidedly not thick. 

Simon flipped them over so Baz’s back was against the couch cushions and his front was flush against Simon’s. It was like they were hugging, but they were sideways, and they were touching all the way down both of their bodies. It was more intimate than a hug. It was like they were merging into one. 

Baz kept his face tucked into Simon’s neck, and Simon kept his arms around Baz. Baz wrapped his arms around Simon’s middle where Simon was the softest. Simon kissed the top of Baz’s head, then brought his hands up to scratch the back of Baz’s neck, right where his hair met his spine, and Baz thought that maybe there was a heaven, because this had to be it.

He could feel himself slowly letting go of all of the stuff that had happened during the day. He could feel the tension slipping slowly from his back. 

Simon brought his hands around Baz’s body to rub Baz’s stomach, and Baz melted even further than he thought was possible. Simon looped his hands around in lazy circles, and Baz’s eyes closed of their own accord, and he hummed and then sighed and then thought about how fucking grateful he was for Simon Snow.

He couldn’t wrap his head around that sometimes, how lucky he was that everything worked out, that he and Simon had been given an ending that didn’t involve either of their deaths.

It was too much for him to think about, but right now, with Simon in his arms, and Simon’s hands rubbing his stomach, and Simon’s mouth kissing his head… 

Right now, he didn’t have to think about anything. 

He just had to be there, in the moment, his breath expanding and contracting in his lungs at the same pace as Simon’s. 

No matter how bad of a day Baz had, no matter what happened to him, he had Simon to come home to. And that, Baz realized, was a special type of magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
